Swiftcurrent Creek [m] Hands 'round my neck, heavenly unfold

He wasn't sure if he felt more vindicated or annoyed when she knew immediately who he was talking about. He assumed, anyway; he only knew the scent, and not the name or the face of The Interloper. And he was apparently family, which Dusty Rose had his doubts about, but all the same he was glad he hadn't made a big deal out of it, as he'd been tempted to do several times in the past couple weeks. If West or the flower eater showed up, he'd probably smell pretty incriminatingly like a serial cuddler, too.

She was his, though. A peculiar look stole over his features; one of suspicions confirmed. That's what I thought.

"Beats me," he said earnestly. But stranger things had happened.

They didn't speak for a time, a kiss easily driving all other thoughts from the coywolf's mind. If she was his, he wanted to have her — and it was difficult to remember why that might not be a good idea when the need had never been more imperative.

"We should..." Fuck? Fuck, definitely — or was it that they shouldn't?